


Finding My Way to You

by LouRandom



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Hannor Week, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 03:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17015037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouRandom/pseuds/LouRandom
Summary: It’s a given that every human has a soulmate; and yet, of course, not everyone is lucky enough to meet theirs.It’s also a given that no android has a soulmate—and that none would ever be lucky enough to acquire one.At least, those were the facts Connor had always known—until he meets Lieutenant Anderson and strange things begin to happen, shaking the very foundations of his once stable programming.





	Finding My Way to You

**Author's Note:**

> Phew FINALLY I post my first HankCon fic (the first of many) because I'm a dumbass who's fallen into the fandom like it's a fucking black hole and yet has a thousand unfinished WIPs that I can't seem to be able to get to editing lol
> 
> Made for Day 6 of HannorWeek, for the prompt Soulmate AU. Hope you enjoy! :3

_It’s a given that every human has a soulmate; and yet, of course, not everyone is lucky enough to meet theirs._

_It’s also a given that no android has a soulmate—and that none would ever be lucky enough to acquire one._

At least, those were the self-evident truths accepted in society, and therefore engrained as facts in Connor’s brain—the cluster of central processors in androids that was colloquially called a brain, to be precise—and since the moment he was activated, he considered them unshakeable truths. And yet the first hint, the first tentative inkling of something being very, _horribly_ wrong is when Lieutenant Anderson poses Connor a question that has his processors working overdrive to deal with the immensely difficult task of finding the right answer, a struggle Connor had never faced before.

_Is there anything you’d like to know about me?_

“Hell no,” the Lieutenant says, “well… yes.” And he looks at Connor with those striking blue eyes and asks, “Do androids have soulmates?”

Connor isn’t sure how to answer, and that worries the hell out of him.

Programmed response: _Androids do not have soulmates and are by no means able to ever acquire one._

Preferred response (when _had_ he developed _preferences_?): _We don’t. But it would be nice to have one, I think._

Connor voices neither of these options, confused by the existence of the latter. Confused by whatever it is hindering his program from responding. Confused by—Hank. Whose gaze, clear and unwavering, strikes Connor completely silent.

Seconds pass.

“Hello?” Hank waves a hand in front of him. “You with me?”

Connor blinks.

_Androids do not have soulmates_

“We don’t,” Connor says instead.

_Androids are by no means able to ever acquire a soulmate._

“But it would be nice,” Connor says, "to have one, I think."

 **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^** flashes in Connor's vision, insistent and bothersome as ever, and as he is wont to of late, Connor ignores it.

Hank chuckles.

“You're not alone there, kid,” he says, his voice losing, for the first time, that touch of hostility and suspicion it has whenever he converses with Connor. “I don’t have one either—and sure as hell won’t be getting one at this point.”

Connor muses on his words as Hank continues with his lunch. It’s a given that every human has a soulmate; and yet there are thousands of obstacles able of preventing some from meeting theirs. Either they are born too early, or too late, or die before the fateful meeting can take place.

Connor, for some inexplicable reason, prefers, wishes, _desires_ for Hank to be wrong.

 *

It's at Eden Club that Connor realizes he’s completely fucked; to his utter and complete shock, he spots _it_ on the blue-haired Traci’s arm. At some point during their fight in the basement, her skin retracts momentarily, and he sees her lover’s serial number traced on the chassis in flawless Cyberlife Sans. That is enough to send him reeling into such a strong state of shock and— **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^** —that he lets go of the Traci and she runs out of the chamber out into the street.

He and Hank catch up to them and Connor has a gun trained on the two girls— _androids._

Not she— _it_. Not hers— _its_. Another error message pops up and his directive shines red, flashing in his vision, urging him, every numeric fiber of his system to—

**SHOOT.**

He overrides it manually and chooses _not to shoot_ , failing yet another mission.

All because of a stupid, unrealistic, impossible desire manifested in the form of one Lieutenant Hank Anderson, who’s standing right beside Connor, and seizing his shoulder in a comforting squeeze, and telling him there’s no harm in fucking up once.

Except it isn’t once, and Connor feels himself submerging faster into a dark hole of uncertainty, confusion and— _fear_.

 *

Androids aren’t supposed to feel fear.

Androids aren’t supposed to _feel_ , period.

And so Connor feels stunted as he realizes that he actually, _seriously_ …

“…would find it… regrettable… to be interrupted before I can finish this investigation.”

Fear in the face of death. Wasn't that an exclusively _human_ emotion?

Connor _isn’t a deviant_ , though, the pathetically weak part of his mind desperately clinging to stability tries to assure him. His directives still keep him safe. Rational. Controlled.

Like every android should be.

And if deviants are able to feel alive, to experience emotion and to have a soulmate—Connor’s curiosity-driven interest in those things must remain irrelevant.

He ignores the acute realization of something missing, something lost as he looks at Hank and the well-known, indisputable fact replays in his mind: _no android has a soulmate._

And if some broken, corrupted fragments of his code (hopefully, soon-to-be-fixed by a diagnostic) form a tentative _I wish he were mine_ —Connor dedicates his processors to diverting his focus from it. It’s a stray thought. Not even a wholesome thought, really.

Illogical. Irrelevant.

_Stupid. Impossible._

 *

Connor had to experience with his whole system— _being_ —what it’s like to let go of directives— _break them down_ —and acquire the power to form and execute his own commands— _desires_.

A strangely painless yet grueling, utterly disorienting process of becoming something _more_ than a sum of processors, wires, plastic and code. Becoming a truly _living_ being. And it’s precisely then, in those split seconds between him staring at Markus like an idiot and realizing the Jericho base is in imminent danger of attack that he feels something uncomfortable, intrusive and bordering on painful searing itself into the depths of his code, engraving itself into his programming. It’s something completely foreign he cannot find the strength to control—or to comprehend the nature of, for that matter.

Connor promptly forgets about this strange sensation as Jericho’s safety becomes a priority.

*

Connor feels _different_. He finally _feels_.

Connor thinks differently. He can now _think_ for himself.

And finally, he can _act_ by himself. Something he never realized he was waiting for, ached for, even when Cyberlife’s hold on him had been that of steel.

This fundamental shift in the nature of his very existence is what enables him to convince hand of his fidelity back at Cyberlife Tower.

It’s what pushes him through the crippling snowstorm of the ruined Zen garden to the safety of Kamski’s back door.

And it’s precisely this shift that compels him to seek out Hank right after Markus is done with his speech. This invisible pull—of life and the sweetness of desire—tugs his lips into a joyful smile and makes him melt in Hank’s tight, warm, protective hug.

“Did it appear for you too?” Hank asks, his voice so unusually quiet that, were Connor human, he might have just missed it.

“What?”

“A mark?” Hank draws away and frowns, and Connor understands, gripping Hank’s left forearm and drawing the sleeve of his coat up to see _—_

**RK800 #313 248 317 -51**

_It’s a given that every human has a soulmate—and their soulmark can appear at the strangest of times and lead to the least expected type of person._

Connor’s skin seems to retract of his own accord and there, on the blue-gray shell of his body perfect letters spell out—

**Hank Anderson**

_It’s also a given that no android has a soulmate, and yet those who find themselves truly_ alive  _and set free of directives are usually lucky enough to acquire one—and to find their way to them._

**Author's Note:**

> find me on  
> [tumblr](https://lou-random.tumblr.com/)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/Lou_Random)


End file.
